


Turbo Tax Isn't User-Friendly: An Abbreviated Love Story

by BlackDog9314



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dad!Dean, Gen, M/M, Sam sucks at Turbo Tax, holy tax accountant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314/pseuds/BlackDog9314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam informs Dean that he owes this year. Dean goes to a professional to verify.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turbo Tax Isn't User-Friendly: An Abbreviated Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> So my gf challenged me to write a one-shot in less than an hour. This is what came of it.  
> In other news, I think awkward and eager tax accountant!Cas may be my new favorite thing.

Dean jumped to his feet, sending the dining room table skidding a few inches to the side and the chair he'd been sitting in onto its back. It landed with a clack that echoed through the small kitchen.  
Sam was staring up at him from where he sat with his laptop on his knees, the red and blue of his plaid shirt vivid against the faded off-white of the linoleum floor.  
“I owe two fucking grand? How the hell is that possible?” Dean said (he definitely did _not_ shriek).  
Sam crossed his arms prissily, his long hair tucked behind his ears and his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “That's what it's telling me. I don't know, I'm not a tax worker. I just plugged in the information.”  
“I don't have that kind of money!” Dean said angrily.  
“You've got two months 'til April. You can pay it in increments," Sam said bracingly, but the downward tilt of his lips betrayed his concern.  
“Yeah, with some bullshit fees I can't afford," Dean snapped.  
“Dean—”  
“Are you sure? You—you put on there that I have Krissy?” Dean asked with a resigned sigh as he turned and bent to pick up the chair from the floor.  
When Dean had finished righting it and turned to look at his brother again, Sam was nodding.  
"Fuck," Dean exhaled.  
“Hey, come on, if you think Turbo Tax is wrong, why don't you go to H &R Block or something? See what they say?” Sam asked.  
Dean nodded numbly, running a hand through his short hair.  
He would have to.  
*  
The following week found Dean kissing Krissy on the tip of her freckled nose before dropping her off with Benny's wife, Andrea, for the afternoon.  
Dean and the laid-back Cajun couple had been friends since just after Krissy's first birthday, and Andrea could usually be counted upon to watch her for a few hours here and there, even when she'd been given little to no notice.  
Dean waved to his daughter and Andrea where they stood on the porch as he backed out of the Lafitte's driveway. He tried not to think of how often he was guilty of springing this kind of shit on his best friend's wife as Krissy blew him a kiss. Things had been more hectic than Dean liked to admit since he won sole custody of his daughter a few years back.  
The nearest H&R Block was over twenty minutes away, and Dean settled in for the drive with Led Zeppelin's Greatest Hits blasting from his speakers and the adjacent passenger window cracked, attempting to cool the inside of the car with mid-March breeze since his AC was out.  
Once Dean had arrived he parked the Impala under the shade of a large oak and made his way to the set of glass double doors, his W-2 in one hand and his wallet in the other.  
Dean's appointment was for three-thirty with a woman named Cass, and he was already almost five minutes late because Krissy had decided she needed to give her best friend Maria a ten-minute goodbye hug at Kinder Care.  
When Dean entered the building he silently thanked the lord for air conditioning, wiping sweat from his brow self-consciously. He signed in at the front desk as quickly as possible, ignoring the stare of the receptionist, who said only, “Castiel will see you now, he's just finishing up.”  
Dean had little time to dwell on the fact that Cas wasn't a woman the way he'd assumed before the man himself emerged from behind a felt-insulated cubicle. One of his hands was already awkwardly extended as he approached Dean.  
“Hello, you must be Mr. Winchester! I'm Castiel, I'll be helping you out today.”  
Dean realized he hadn't taken the other man's hand and quickly did so, trying to look anywhere but at the deep blue eyes currently focused on him with all the eager enthusiasm of someone just out of college.  
Dean inwardly cursed himself as he noticed he hadn't stopped staring into Cas's eyes.  
“Yep, that's me,” he said uncertainly, relieved when Cas, apparently undaunted, turned around to lead Dean to his desk a few cubicles back.  
“What is it we're doing today?” Cas asked in a bright tone at odds with the deep timbre of his voice as he sat down behind his desk. He enthusiastically gestured for Dean to sit across from him.  
Cas had very dark, shiny hair, Dean saw, and pink lips that looked a little chapped, but not unpleasantly so.  
“What? Oh, right. Taxes. My brother did mine and said I owed two grand, and I really don't think that sounds right. Not like I want to get a whole lot back or anything, but I've never owed before and I don't see why I would now—” Dean realized he was rambling and abruptly cut himself off, looking down at his hands to avoid Cas's smile (which was a very nice smile).  
“Alright, great idea. Always good to get a second opinion, right?” Cas asked, apparently not rhetorically. Dean nodded hurriedly when he realized Cas was waiting for him to in some way answer.  
“Okay. Well, Mr. Winchester—”  
“Dean!” Dean blurted out.  
“What?” Cas asked, his head canted slightly to the side as he interrupted his own slow turn toward his computer. His slate-gray button down shirt was wrinkled, Dean noticed, and a small coffee stain decorated one of the sleeves. Instead of convincing him that Cas was slovenly, it just made Dean wonder what the other man would look like in a band tee and jeans.  
Cas was still staring at him, and Dean needed to say something. Right.  
“Just...call me Dean?” Dean said weakly.  
Cas nodded and licked his lips, likely unconsciously, but Dean had to look away all the same.  
“So, Dean, let's get started. Can I see your W-2?” Cas asked as he pulled up a form on his computer and cracked his knuckles.  
“Here.” Dean handed him the bit of paper and sat back as Cas began to enter the information into the computer.  
He moved gracefully, Dean couldn't help but see. Every jarring tap of the grease-smudged, sticky keys had a sort of understated economy of motion. Cas's fingers were long, finely-haired, the nails short and rounded. He continually ran his hands through his already-messy hair, making it stand on-end.  
“Alright. Do you have any dependents?” Cas asked after he'd entered all the available information.  
“My daughter,” Dean said, the words automatic.  
“Oh,” Cas said, his hands stilling on the keyboard.  
“What?” Dean asked, sitting up straight in the hard plastic chair and craning his neck to see if something had come up on the computer screen.  
“Nothing,” Cas said quickly, his voice somehow different than it had been even a few minutes before.  
“Okay...” Dean said slowly, wondering if he'd unintentionally said something inappropriate.  
“Single?” Cas asked him flatly without so much as a glance over, as if he was reciting a number for an automated messaging system instead of interacting with a person two feet to his left.  
“Yeah,” Dean said, frowning. “Krissy's mom ain't in the picture. Hasn't been since 2014.”  
At that Cas suddenly turned to face him again, a small smile on his full lips.  
“I see.”

By the time Dean left the H&R Block twenty minutes later, he had a coffee date with Cas for the following week and the comforting knowledge that in two months the government would refund him almost three-thousand dollars.


End file.
